


Let me count the ways

by jadeopal



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Immortality, M/M, Some Fluff Maybe?, resulting from that immortality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 16:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15889794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadeopal/pseuds/jadeopal
Summary: Based on the prompt “Wade recounts everything he loves enough to live for.”And when a healing factor means that your life may never end, you need a hell of a lot of things to live for.





	Let me count the ways

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt by QueerIsHere in the Isn't It Bromantic discord server.
> 
> (Also oops Ellie only kind of exists in this fic because I forgot about her until I was halfway through :/ Sorry bout that y'alls)
> 
> Thanks to CommonWhiteDude for beta'ing for me! Your contributions and enthusiasm were greatly appreciated ^-^

The downside of not being able to die, Wade thought, was that eventually, things would get so _boring_ . He’d only been around for so many deathless years so far, but already, he felt like things were starting to get old. There were always more villains who were trying to end the world and who needed to be defeated; more superheroes to scold him for his actions (he was a _merc_. With a _mouth_. How could he be expected to _not_ kill and sass?); more baby-faced boy bands with gravity-defying hair to make him want to rip his ears off. Not that it would do much, anyway, they’d just grow right back, but it was the _thought_ that counted.

What was his point again? — Ah, yes, right. The point was, people just didn’t appreciate what they had until they lost it. You know the spiel: you only miss the light when it’s burning low, only miss the sun when it starts to snow, only know you love her when you let her go— And you only want to die when you become functionally immortal.

It was okay, though. Sort of. Maybe. At least a little bit — okay maybe not so much at all, but the thing was, as much Wade wanted to mope about being cursed by the Fountain of Life and Ugliness, boo hoo hoo, there wasn’t much point. Decades spent moping weren’t nearly as fun as decades spent doing... other stuff. And besides, if he was going to be stuck in this lousy world for however many centuries to come, he was damn well going to find a way to enjoy all those endless centuries. Hedonism was a lifestyle choice he greatly approved of.

So over the years, the endlessly bland and mind-numbing years of just living and living and going on living, Wade finds things that let him feel, however much or little, that maybe, just maybe, his forced ongoing life isn’t so bad as it seems.

Like Mexican food. Damn does he love Mexican food. In any and all forms. He discovers hole-in-the-wall restaurants in every city he visits that serve the very best Tex-Mex. He visits Taco Bell and, over the course of a few months, orders and downs every item on their menu. He is delighted to learn, at the end of that adventure, that approximately 60% of all Taco Bell items taste the exact same to one another. What other fast food bastardization of a national cuisine can claim the same honour? None other than Taco Bell, that’s who. And when he discovers chimichangas — hot _mama!_ That’s worth at least another five-year lease on life, he’d say.

He discovers lots of other things to live for, too. He has a brief stint exploring cross-dressing, but when a lacy thong goes _way_ up Main Street during one particularly feisty hit, he decides to put that on the back burner for a while. (It’s a shame, it really is. He had a hit coming up the next week in Paris in the middle of Fashion Week, and was looking forward to stealing some hot dresses and lingerie fresh off the runway.) He idly takes up knitting, and then idly trashes it a week later, after his third attempt at a scarf comes out as a lumpy, knotted blob. (He may be a whiz with his swords, knives, and guns, but two little needles and a heck of a lot of yarn are _way_ beyond him. Kudos to all old ladies out there who can manage it. Deadpool is tapping _out._ ) He even considers taking up sewing, but when he thinks of how torturesome it is to mend his suit _every single time_ the baddies/his victims/etc. decide that shooting/stabbing/slicing/dicing/impaling/etc.-you-get-the-idea him is fun, he considers otherwise. Seriously, why would he turn a chore into a hobby? He’s not that pathetic. Yet.

He revels in the screams his targets make when they realize he’s going to un-alive them. The screams they make as he does so. He keeps a record of it for a while in a little notebook he carries around in one of his pouches — _weasel-like whimper; piggy snort; good God I did not know a full-grown man’s voice could go so high he should maybe get that checked out--oops wait he’s dead now, maybe not_ — until one day he’s caught up in an explosion while on a S.H.I.E.L.D.-requested mission. Then it’s bye-bye notebook and weird collection of sounds. Though on the nights he can’t sleep and doesn’t want to deal with the mess of blowing his brains out, he still does cherish the memory of that one particularly high squeal. It really was an eerily beautiful sound.

He belts out the lyrics of _YOU BELONG WITH ME!!!_ along with the radio, the few times he finds himself with a car to drive (usually hot-wired). He spends a few years obsessively tracking Taylor Swift’s rising stardom status, and geeks out with the other preteen girls on Twitter about how he can _so relate_ to _Teardrops on My Guitar_ , Drew has no idea how _lucky_ he could’ve been, what an _idiot_. Then they start geeking about how _Taylor’s vibe is TOTALLY CHANGING, WHAT HAPPENED TO HER???/???_ , _she is SELLING OUT_ , and then because at heart he is Taylor Swift 5EvaTM, he gets himself another Twitter account and starts gushing with the new generation of preteens about how _omGEE she like TOTES GETS IT, SHAKE IT BABY, SHAKE IT SHAKE IT OFF_. That keeps him going for another twelve years or so.

One year he goes on a mission with the X-Men, which gives him a whole _plethora_ of things to live for. First of all: _Hell yes,_ X-Men, bitches! Even if old Xavier gives him suspicious side-glances the whole time, as if not sure whether or not he can be trusted (excuse you, baldy, you’re not even as handsome as James McAvoy was in the reboot), he can still pretend for a bit that he’s part of the team. And then of course there’s the slicing-and-dicing that happens during the mission that cheers him up considerably. Best of all, though? Wolverine _tolerates him_. Like, what? Wade’s his usual obnoxious, merc-with-a-mouth, red spandex-clad self, and the most Wolverine does is grunt at him a few times. No threats of castration! No growls of dismemberment! Heck, the dude only waves his metal claws at him _four times!_ That’s an all-new record. Someday, they’re going to get to the point where they can share a few Molson Canadians and complain to each other about having a superpowered healing factor in an almost civil manner. Wade can feel it. It’s going to _happen_.

He somehow stumbles into a couple of missions with the Avengers too. Mostly he just happens to join them whenever there’s another threat to New York. Usually aliens. Seriously, New York is an alien invasion hotspot. They should put that on the tourist websites: “Come to New York City for the latest alien sightings and to possible die from alien explosions! Write ‘killed by aliens’ on your tombstone!” And those are great. Mostly. Dying from alien explosions isn’t so fun, even if the death doesn’t stick. Chopping up aliens is, though. So’s pissing off Iron Man. Wade even gets a go at bringing out the big green guy, even if it is in the middle of the Avengers tower when there are no alien invasions to be had. (What can he say, he’s just really good at pissing people off. Also the Avengers tower security isn’t so great against intruders with healing factors. Iron Man should really get on that ASAP.) The best part of the Avengers, though is that they introduce him to Spider-Man.

Oh, Spider-Man.

xxxxx

 

  | 

Okay, quick pause here. You need to know the backstory to Wade’s relationship with Spider-Man before you can begin to understand the role the superhero plays in the merc’s life.

Wade met Spider-Man — or really, Deadpool met Spider-Man — numerous times before, during his previous trips to New York. Usually it was directly before, during, or after a hit. On those occasions, Spider-Man webbed up the would-be target and called the police on them, Deadpool helpfully supplying what the target was being hit for. Then Spider-Man always, without a fault, webbed Deadpool up like a really fat red caterpillar in a cocoon, and carried him several blocks away to be deposited and abandoned on a random rooftop. The few words they shared usually consisted of Spider-Man lecturing Deadpool, telling him all about how it’s wrong to un-alive people, blah blah blah, while Deadpool flirted badly back and tried, and failed, to cop a feel of dat ass. Dat fine, _fine_ ass.

Occasionally there was banter. Usually it ended with Deadpool calling out after Spidey as he webbed off into the night.

It kinda sucked, actually, because ever since the first time Wade had heard the name Spider-Man, he’d considered the guy to be... kind of an idol? The closest thing to a role model he had. Not that he’d ever want to join Spidey on his anti-un-aliving crusade to protect the streets of NYC from petty small crime, but... He still respected how firmly Spidey always stuck to his beliefs, no matter the situation. He never compromised, never said “well I guess a _little_ un-aliving might be okay, just this once.” He knew what he believed in, and he stood for it.

Wade thought that maybe, if Spidey’d been the one stuck with the mega healing factor instead, he could’ve made something good out of it. Unlike Wade, who was just plodding from day to day, trying not to wallow too much in his own misery.

And it would’ve been cool if Spidey and Deadpool could’ve ever been friends. Red spandex buddies, and all that! Their banter could’ve been the stuff of legends! And maybe Spidey could’ve taught Wade a way to live that was more than just gorging on tacos and burritos every other day, more than humming auto-tuned pop tunes under his breath through the long nights.

But on the few occasions when they met, Spidey kept their chitchat limited to ethics monologues and one-sided banter. Which kinda sucked.

But yeah.

There’s that.

Now, back to the usual programme.  
  
---|---  
  
xxxxxx

Oh, Spider-Man. That fine booty alone is reason enough to keep going _at least_ another fifty years. Just until it starts to get saggy and ugly like an old man’s bottom. (Blasphemy! That pert, round bottom will _never_ get saggy! It goes against the basic laws of the universe!)

Other great things about Spider-Man include:

The way that, the first time they team up with the Avengers to stop the latest threat to New York City, Spidey only pauses a moment to absorb the fact that he and Wade are on the same side for once before swinging off to stop the latest wave of demon rabbit-alien-things-whatever-who-cares-Wade’ll-just-unalive-them-anyway.

The wisecracks and banter he keeps flowing over the comms for the entire duration of the fight. Seriously, the kid could call himself ‘spider with a mouth’ if he wanted, he’s deserving of the title. Wade wouldn’t even mind (much) about the blatant plagiarism.

The fact that Spidey actually says _yes_ when Wade invites him to post-mission tacos and chimichangas on top of the Avengers tower. Like — hello, who are you, what have you done to Spidey? Wade never thought Spidey would ever even _think_ of saying yes, with how he usually treats Deadpool. Granted, that might just be because usually, Spidey finds Deadpool in the midst of a hit, but still. They go out for tacos, and banter a bit, and it’s great. Deadpool has to subtly stab himself a few times to make sure he isn’t dreaming.

And then they part ways, and Wade leaves New York for a bit to unalive some people in South America (the amount of unaliving that goes on there, seriously, it makes Wade come in his pants a little), and he sort of-kind of-almost-not really forgets about the taco night with Spidey, except that he really doesn’t, because _he had a taco night with Spidey._ How can he ever forget that? The few glimpses he got of the uncovered bottom of Spidey’s face, all pale and smooth, luscious pink lips closing around bitefuls of taco — Wade could barely make out any details in the sporadic nighttime New York City lighting but what little he could see fuels his wet dreams for a long, long few months.

Then he goes back to New York. Not for a hit this time, but just because he loves the city so much (and loves breaking into the Avengers Tower and scaring the crap out of Iron Man whenever he’s there). And he decides to sit up on a rooftop at night, with bagfuls of Mexican take-out, watching the still lights of the traffic below (New York traffic, hah). And then, lo and behold, who should decide to join him but Spidey, once again!

And then Spidey comes back the next night. And the next. And the next. And then rooftop taco nights become a mostly-nightly thing, with Wade choosing a new rooftop each time and Spidey coming to join him as soon as he finds him. And Wade thinks that, as far as reasons to live go, nightly rendezvous with Spider-Man and tacos are a damn good reason to live.

He decides he’ll enjoy it while it lasts, because he damn sure as hell doesn’t expect Spidey to _keep_ wanting to chat with him for however long every night. Except Spidey keeps coming back, night after night after night, until it’s been nearly three months that Wade’s been lingering in New York, and he’s made Spidey laugh at his renditions of the latest Taylor Swift hits, and he’s found himself laughing at Spidey’s demonstrations of the newest hottest dance moves out there. And he’s found himself telling Spidey all about Ellie, the daughter he never knew he had until she was nearly all grown up and whom he won’t let himself get close to in case she catches the tail end of the consequences of his mercenary lifestyle. And he’s found Spidey telling himself all about his Aunt [name redacted], who’s slowly getting older and sicker but certainly no richer, and how he’s trying to make sure she’s provided for even as he juggles work and life and vigilantism.

And then he’s traded burner phone numbers with Spidey, which has him squealing like a sixteen-year-old being asked to prom, while Spidey chuckles at him in the background. And then he starts joining Spidey on his nightly patrols, mostly just to stand to the side and snark while Spidey does the actual job of webbing up the criminals, rolling his eyes all the while, though eventually Wade starts helping in the tracking-down-crime and chasing-down-criminals parts too.

And things are all fine and dandy for a while. Wade starts looking for a place where he can permanently squat because it looks like he’s going to be staying in New York for a damn sight longer than he’d first thought.

Then some elephant asshole decides to try to demolish half of Manhattan in the middle of the day. Spidey, naturally, decides he needs to leap in to save the day. Wade, flipping through channels to try to find reruns of the Golden Girls (boy does he love those ladies, he’d stay living for months longer just for the chance to continue gazing upon Bea Arthur’s perfect visage), comes across the news just in time, and just long enough, to see elephant asshole tossing the red-and-blue smudge of Spider-Man into a building. Then Elephant Asshole rams into the building. Then the building collapses on top of puny little Spidey.

Wade is suited up and ready to go faster than he can blink, and he nearly coughs up a lung sprinting across the city but he manages to get there before Elephant Asshole stampedes away. Then it’s the work of a couple of minutes to sever all of Elephant Asshole’s important tendons — but not kill him! Spidey would be annoyed if Wade killed him, no matter how assholey the Elephant Asshole was being — and only a few minutes more of him tossing aside tiny pieces of rubble before Spidey turns over a giant piece of wall to emerge, pretty beaten up but _still alive, holy mother of Jesus Christ, still breathing and alive_ , from the rubble.

Spidey alive and well: Wade would carry on for millennia if, by doing so, he could keep Spidey alive and well.

As it is, all he can do is pick up Spidey, mindful of his broken ribs, and carry him down back alleys until they reach the empty penthouse apartment where Wade’s been squatting the past week or so. Spidey certainly seems to appreciate the soft mattress he’s laid upon.

And as Wade carefully tends to Spidey’s wounds and broken bones, Spidey hesitates for only a moment before taking off his mask.

And oh, _oh_ , Spidey’s face is _lovely._

Wade would stare at that face for centuries, if Spidey would let him. Wade would slug through life for centuries, as long as he could catch a mere glimpse of Spidey’s face at the end of those centuries.

The funny thing is, when Wade pulls off his own mask to match Spidey during taco night weeks later, he thinks Spidey might look at him as if he’s thinking the exact same thing.

Yeah. Wade would live for ages and ages if he could get Spidey to look at him that way one more time.

But then it’s like the world hears Wade’s thoughts and then does him one better:

One night, one taco night suspended high above the glowing nightlife of the city, Wade hands Spidey an overflowing burrito, then as Spidey’s trying to keep all the stuffing of the burrito inside the burrito wrapping, impulsively reaches over to quickly grab and squeeze that pert, round ass. He knows Spidey will probably kick him off the roof for it. He does it anyway. One death is more than a fair trade for the chance to finally get to feel that firm, bouncy ass.

Spidey doesn’t kick him off. Spidey startles a little at the touch, dumping half the burrito’s contents over the edge of the roof. Then Spidey dumps the rest of the burrito as well to turn, grab Wade’s face between his hands, and kiss him. Hard.

Wade will carry the memory of that first, firm kiss, slightly sloppy but just as soft as Spidey’s lips have always looked, with him when the sun explodes and he’s sent out among the stars.

That late-night kiss atop one New York rooftop is their first, but it is not, by any measure, their last.

Wade memorizes the way Spidey’s lips feel against his own. The way Spidey’s cheeks feel under his rough, scarred thumbs. He memorizes the exact colour of Spidey’s big wide eyes and flyaway hair, the shade of his cheeks when he’s flushed after a particularly vigorous makeout session. He memorizes Spidey’s address when he finally learns it, and then he memorizes Peter Parker, freelance photographer for the Daily Bugle, when Spidey shares that with him. He memorizes the ways that Peter grimaces when Wade calls him by his assortment of nicknames — Spidey, Webs, Petey-pie, baby boy — and he memorizes the way Petey’s skin feels under his hands, the way Petey’s hands feel on his own body. The sounds Petey makes when they lie together in the dark, sometimes giggling, sometimes gasping. He memorizes the way Petey looks when he’s soundly asleep, head pillowed on Wade’s chest. He memorizes the way Petey looks when he wakes up.

(Sometimes, on those rare occasions when Wade manages to sleep through the night long enough that Petey wakes before him, he thinks he can see Petey staring at him as though he’s trying to memorize Wade’s face, Wade’s eyes, Wade’s frowns and smiles, just as much as Wade memorizes Petey. He’s never sure if he’s just imagining it or not, though.)

He memorizes all these things because he knows that, someday, healing factor or not, Petey will be gone. Petey will disappear and leave Wade alone, to carry on living without him. And when that day comes, all the Mexican food and Taylor Swift music in the world won’t be enough to make Wade keep on living if he forgets what these precious, beautiful moments with his Petey-pie were like.

He memorizes each and every time Petey whispers in his ear, “ _I love you_ ,” so that when Petey is no longer around to whisper it to him anymore, he will still be able to play those words back to himself in his mind, and pretend, just for a little bit, that his precious baby boy, with the wide eyes and flyaway hair, is still there with him.

And someday, centuries away, when both the best and the worst of Tex-Mex has been replaced by lab-grown, cardboard-tasting synthetics and powders; when cross-dressing becomes more a matter of crossing times than crossing genders, because humanity has evolved beyond the male-female dichotomy; when Taylor Swift is long dead, replaced by the newest hottest teen pop idol who sounds the same as the thousands of millions who’ve come before; when the Avengers, the X-Men, and even the Wolverine himself have dismantled, dissolved, disappeared, in a way Wade himself will never manage:

At that time, Wade will be alone in a city of steel and glass, surrounded by people he doesn’t know and faces he doesn’t recognize. He will walk the streets in his red and black suit, and he will stand out like an explosion of colour in a sea of monochrome. He will still have his knives and guns with him, though they may look slightly different from the weapons he had at the beginning, and he will still delight in slicing and dicing, removing heads from shoulders and limbs from bodies, hearing the little sounds that his targets make before they take their final breaths.

But on the nights that are too long, when he looks out over the city at the lights below that are moving too fast, he will think back on all the good times he had that are now long gone. He will remember nights spent eating tacos on top of filthy, grimy rooftops. He’ll remember quick banter, soft kisses, whispered confessions into the dark.

He’ll wish for the photograph he carried with him for decades before it was disintegrated in some explosion or the other. A flimsy piece of paper, showing him, scarred face and all, beside a boy with wide eyes and flyaway hair. The two of them together, smiling and happy. He'll wish that he could go back to those times. He'll wish that that beautiful baby boy could still be here with him.

He will wish. He will remember.

And he will live on.

**Author's Note:**

> (Pst, AiJamaisFacile made a podfic for this story, go check it out. :D)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Let Me Count The Ways (Podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16013357) by [AiJamaisFacil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AiJamaisFacil/pseuds/AiJamaisFacil)




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